Hand-me-downs

 

The jacket felt tight across my shoulders, uncomfortable, the zip wouldn't meet across my stomach. The guy I killed to get it had looked about my size, but he had been carrying it draped across his shoulder, his finger hooked into the collar, maybe he had got it from someone smaller. Hell, for all I know the jacket had seen many owners, been carried away from many corpses. At least I was a little warmer now.

The boots were a better fit, a size too large, which was way better than a size too small at least, no laces either, but still much better than the falling to pieces ones that they replaced. I'm guessing he either had big feet for his body size, or his feet rattled inside them too, they probably shared a similar history to the jacket.

The world had moved on, clothes were hard to come by these days, same as food, ammo, good intentions, all gone by the by.

I crouched in the doorway, listening... watching... The moonlight threw pale shadows across the road from the derelict vehicles.

No sounds... Nothing moved.

I hunkered down further and huddled up against the cold as best I could, not the best place to be, but I daren't take the chance of moving just yet, give it a little more time, there may be others like me, watching and waiting, others who were a bit smarter than the jacket donor, god knows how he had managed to survive for so long.

I heard a slight scrape to my left, slowly turned my head to see a shadowy shape a few feet away, the moonlight glinting off the twin whites of his eyes, and the twin holes of a double barrel sawn-off.

Using the edge of the doorstep I worked the boots off my feet, then slowly... slowly... I took off the jacket and held it out to him.

©2025 Stephen. J. Green.

Clutter

I hate clutter. I have always hated clutter.

When I look back through my life, the signs have always been there. My mother once told me how annoying I was as a small child, constantly screaming whilst throwing all the toys from my pram, all but one that is, a bright blue rattle that for some reason I always kept hold of, the rest of the toys strewn messily across the floor, trip hazards for my parents and unwary siblings.

Now, over two decades later, every unnecessary item has been removed from the house, sold, given away, or dumped. I'm a much calmer person these days, now all the triggers have gone, happy with what remains. One chair, one knife, one fork, one spoon, one cup... one of everything, why would a person need more than that?

As for the parents and siblings, I suppose they would have been a little dismayed to learn that they were thought of as clutter, they are beyond caring now, and they all fit into just the one hole I had dug.

©2025 Stephen. J. Green.